


Against the abyss

by mrpq



Category: Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics), Injustice: Gods Among Us
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Injustice, Injustice!au, M/M, Nightwing!Damian, Orpheus and Eurydice Myth, Underworld, Warnings May Change, death is but a round circle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-02 02:06:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16296218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrpq/pseuds/mrpq
Summary: It's been years since Dick died. But after a brief encounter with the current Deadman, Damian, guilt-ridden and full of longing, decides that it's time he ventured into the depths of hell ( Orpheus style) and bring back Dick Grayson into the world of the living.





	1. Going down

**Author's Note:**

> It's kind of a mix between the injustice universe and whatever happened in N52 and rebirth. Bruce died and Dick and Damian were a team. Then Bruce came back and it was back to the normal shit. But shortly after, Injustice events happened and Dick died *** major injustice spoiler**. Also Damian would be around 17/18 when this happens. I'd say its been about 2 years since Dick's death. He's taken on the Nightwing mantle. 
> 
> There might be some mistakes timeline/continuity wise and some general writing errors because no beta.
> 
> The title is from the poem "Orpheus and Eurydice, by Czeslaw Milosz". 
> 
> anyway i will try my best to do update regularly. hope you enjoy!

A hand as gentle as the breeze cupped his cheek, thumb tracing over it tenderly. Damian turned his head slightly to lean it to the feeling but as he did, it vanished. The realization that he was gone again froze his heart and the weight of everything dropped back on his shoulder. He sat there on the ground for what felt like forever, staring at the empty space where the fading form of Dick Grayson was only moments ago. 

He couldn’t say how long he sat there, mulling his thoughts over and over one thing. He had seen Grayson in the tower of fate, and he could say within a 99% certainty that he was real. It was the magic in this place that had allowed for his ghost to become more than an invisible apparition. If he had come here, then maybe Damian could see him again. Maybe Damian could go the place he went to. And if he was in this damned tower, might as well get some answers. 

Damian sat up and headed towards the tower, drawing his sword with every intention to beat the shit out of anyone to get what he needed. 

\-----

Damian rolled onto his back, tucking his hands behind his head, staring at the stars in the night sky above him. He had just come back from interrogating Constantine. It had been a challenge to get much information. He had enough thought to go through with his plan. 

As he stared up at the stars, and thought of his father. When Damian had first seen him you could say he had been underwhelmed. The man that stood in front of him, in the daylight of the docks was no comparison to the huge shadow, the nightmare, the dark knight that his mother had described. He was a man in a bat costume, his mouth pulled down into a grimace and the white lenses of the cowl narrowed in suspicion. He had never the less taken his Mother’s word and taken Damian home with him. 

Damian’s observation within the next few days however had however been solidified, his mother’s stories not quite so unrealistic. When he saw how Batman dealt with the criminals, it was alarming. The pure strength that radiated from him. To the lowly scum of Gotham, Damian could understand the pure fear when they saw the white eyes of the cowl in the shadows. Or the shadow of the bat flying above them. 

What Damian didn’t understand is how the citizens they saved looked so relieved. Of course he understood that his father saved them and they should be grateful towards him. But the kind of love and admiration he saw in their eyes didn’t exactly match up. Were they seeing the same man? Was he missing something? Were they not afraid of the pure lethal force that his Father was. 

One time his father had found a child, around his age, in an empty house during a raid. The way that his father had crouched down to the boy and spoken to him in a low tone had him feeling something close to jealousy. Father certainly did not speak to him that way. He had only spoken to the boy for a moment and yet there was already so much trust in the boy’s eyes, his shoulders relaxed completely. That was Damian’s first hint at the kind of man his father really was. What made him Batman.

He could kickass. No doubt. But he was kind. And he reached out to others weaker than him and he didn’t give up no matter how hard he was beaten. He was a creature of control and precision and he used that to enact his duty as the protector of gotham. While he could not understand fully, Damian could respect him. It was short lived though. 

When Grayson had become Batman, Damian had found it hard to respect him too. He was no Father. His skills were lacking and he was too soft. But once again, with in the next few weeks Damian could see how kindness radiated off him. And for the first time, it was directed at him too. Sometimes, on a stakeout a simple pat on the shoulder, an elbow nudge, a short compliment is all it took for his heart and his stomach to radiate with warmth. 

He had felt that warmth only a few times before. When he killed his first man, when he had successfully defeated his sword fighting teacher, when he had defeated his mother. There were rare instances between those, when his mother would smile at him when her guard was down Or when Goliath whole body purred. The warmth radiated throughout his whole body. During his time with Father, he hadn't really felt it. It wasn’t the same. 

Instead he had felt like an outsider. Privy to batman's life but as distant as the criminals he beat up. The few times they had dinner or breakfast together had been awkward affairs and after the first 2 attempts at conversation, Damian purposely timed his arrival at the table when his Father was not present. 

Grayson had been different in the sense that he didn’t allow Damian to run away. In the smaller space of the penthouse, there wasn't a lot of space to hide. And unlike Father, Grayson tended to talk more not even needing non-commential grunts to move the conversation along. Must have learned that being around Father. Damian had met Grayson once before Father’s death and he had been different. More open, worse jokes. Now he was quiet but he made the attempt nonetheless. 

Damian resented him at first. He hadn't known his Father well but he knew him enough to say that Grayson could never live up to the gold standard he was. 

He could distinctly remember the night when Grayson had fully wormed his way into Damian heart. When Damian realized, that maybe he loved this man. He hadn’t known then, but he knew now. It had been a long night, hours spent in the cold pouring rain huddled between 2 gargoyles, night goggles trained onto the 7th story of the Gotham hospital. They had not spoken a word in hours, the miserable rain enough to trample even Grayson’s spirits. The frustration in Damian had built up, as had the boredom. When the time came to beat down on the goons, Damian had been angry but he showed restraint. Pulling up into the bunker, Grayson had removed his cowl and put his hand on Damian’s shoulder, had smiled at him, the corner of his eyes crinkling. The warmth of that smile had been enough to weaken his knees. Grayson only said “good job back there”, before turning around and going off to collapse on the couch. It in the grand story of things, it should have meant this much. But recognition of his efforts lifted his spirits and even the hot shower couldn't make his feel as warm as Grayson’s approval had. 

\-----

Damian hopped down from the final ledge, dusting off his pants and looking around. It was eerily quiet. He had expected that once he got here, he would be drowned in the din of the moaning dead. He had imagined burning flames of hell as depicted by the tales told by his mother, red hot fires, thick black smoke and the wailing and screaming of the scorched damned. 

The place that he had stepped into was rather different all together. Thick mist swirled around his ankles. The cavernous walls of the cave, the ceiling high above him shrouded in shadow. Here and there, jagged stones produced from the ground. It was dark but a hazy sort of light seemed to be filtering from somewhere. It sort of looked like the bat cave, like the back portions where the paths twisted and if you weren't careful you would get lost in the musty cold caves. He could swear that he could also smell the stench of guano. Odd. He wondered how different this place would look had he been here 4 years ago. Possibly like the chambers inside of nanda parbat. Maybe complete darkness. 

In the din of the cave, he could see the opening. With no other option, Damian stepped into the sloped passageway. 

He went along it, tracing his hand along the rough wet walls of the cave. The narrow passage was getting smaller and steeper as he went, the downward slope going down at an almost dangerous level. Down and down it went, for what felt like days. He had no watch, and the dim light from above the didn’t seem to change. 

As he went further down, his back burned. He felt as if something was following, something pulling him. Cold ice dripping down his neck, clammy hands on his shoulders, an urge to look back. Despite it all, Damian refused.. He knew that if he did look back, that was it. There would be no going back or forward for that matters. He’d be damned for eternity and right now he didn’t care for that at all. 

In addition to the burning urges, it was also lonely and the longer he went the more he wondered if he was doing the right thing. He had grown up seeing his grandfather getting resurrected by the lazarus pit over and over again. He himself had come back. Death wasn’t something permanent. But going down here was different. Damian wondered whether he would make his way here one day. No doubt he would have earned it with all that he had done. All the sins that he had committed. 

All that he had done in the past year. When the regime had first started, he had thought that he had done good siding with superman. There were flaws in his father's methods. Killing evils was necessary.The Joker had deserved to die, as had many others. They had been doing good, at least for a while. But it seemed that his Father was right. He could see that now. Without the restraint, they, the regime, have strayed from the path and had become that what they had first sought to destroy. 

The regime had become more and more twisted. Damian had tried to ignore their wrongdoings for as long as he could, justifying what he could. When the league punished ordinary civilians, when they burned and destroyed for the greater good, when they killed their own comrades, there was only so much he could overlook. He has turned away from the light, from his father, from….. Richard….blinded by self-loathing and fear and guilt. 

For years, the one moment that dictated his life was the twist of his wrist as the escrima stick left his hand, the soft thud as it hit Nightwings head and that unsettling crack when his neck broke. While he was certain that the crack hadn't been so loud, it had felt deafening. Slowed down, it played in his head over and over. 

Ever since he had seen that glimpse of Nightwing, at Constantine’s castle, everything had changed. He could be reached. He could talk to him again, see his smile again. Beg for forgiveness. Even if it was a one time thing, even if he had to give his soul away, he would. There was nothing left for him anymore. As far as Father was concerned, he was dead. He had no friends in the league. His raison d’etre had been Grayson and he had killed him. Anything to see him again would be a small price. 

The anxiety within the pit of his stomach was growing. What if constantine had been wrong and the Deadman didn’t reside here. He had considered the possibility that it would have been a trap. He had tried to research what he could but there wasn't much that could back up Constantines claims. If they turned out of be wrong, then he would spend eternity haunting him. 

He had blood on his hand. Of course he did. He couldn't even count how many he had killed before the age the of 10. His hands were stained and no matter how hard he scrubbed it hadn’t come off. But over the time, he had gotten used to the tint. It colored everything he did. Grayson had done wonders. The tint had seemed to fade. He’d given Damian support since the beginning, understanding him in a way no one else had. His one true partner. Now, on top of everything it was Grayson’s blood that stained everything bright red again. He had begun to kill again after, and now the blood dripped off of his hands, thick as tar. It was sticky and it coated everything. 

But despite it, he had pushed on. And on and on… Until now.


	2. The river

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian continues his journey further into hell. 
> 
> This is the song that Damian plays for the ferryman:   
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xxjw6ZsHjNU 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Damian's thoughts which had been drifting as he made his way down the narrow passageway ceased as he saw light faintly coming from an opening far up ahead. He increased his speed and as he travelled further, the passageway began to open up, the ceiling getting higher and the sides getting wider until he no longer touch them with both hands. 

When the tunnel opened up proper, he saw that he had arrived on the banks of the Acheron. Its murky surface seemed to stretch on as far as the eye could see, the other shore hidden by the heavy mist that drifted on the surface. The bank of the river was silty, the sand beneath his feet a silky texture that made him feel like he was slipping. The bank itself was long and huddled along the shores were masses of bodies, the unburied dead. They waited eternally on the shore for the ship that they would never be able to take. As Damian approached, they sensed his presence and turned to face him. He simply ignored them and walked to the edge. The water lapped at the shore and Damian stepped back, seeing acidic vapors rise up from the surface. 

In the mist far ahead, he was a figure approaching. 

Damian tucked the violin under his chin, placing the bow on the string. He gave one look at the ferryman before beginning bro play. He had agonized over which song to play. In the end this was only one that had felt right. Aase's death. It was from a Norwegian play. It was simple. But it spoke of loss and mourning , the melody rising and lifting. It was a slow type of mourning and he hoped and prayed that It would be enough. 

It had been a piece he played rarely but now it only seemed to fit. The story seemed to resonate with him. Death of Aase was what he had chosen, it was from a play he had watched once when he was younger. Peer Gynt was the story of the downfall and redemption of a norwegian anti-hero. Peer struggled with himself and facing the truth of life. Running away from his problems was something he was familiar with. When he had been faced with the choice to stay with Batman or go with the path of the regime, he had chosen to turn away, to run away from the hard decision. He had gone against what he had through was the losing side. In the play, when the man had finally returned home, he had found his mother dead and had mourned.   
The song, It’s simple tune often brought peace to the turmoil raging in his heart. He just hoped that it would be enough.He poured his heart, his sorrow his guilt and his love into the song hoping that it would be enough. The song itself wasn't that long but it had depth and that meant he could play it over and over. After a while though, he lost the tune and moved into to play something different. 

One that he had written himself but had never finished. Now the notes flowed from inside him and he played until his fingers were sore and the muscles in his back were tight with the tension. Through the strings, he tried to show the feeling of swinging through the night sky, the familiar shape of Nightwing by his side. The sunrise ice-cream breaks. The banter. The warm smiles and clear blue eyes. The first kiss, sweet and chaste. The second kiss, wild and uncontrolled and hurried. The awful crack. The loneliness after he had gone. 

He played until he heard a scraping voice as the long boat breached the shore. The ferryman, a tall hooded figure, just stood there, oar in hand, waiting. When no one else seemed to be getting on, Damian took a step forward and stepped on. The wood was soft and it creaked as he moved to take a seat. Once he had settled in, the ferryman pushed off. And along their glided, over the dark and murky waters. Damian dared to look over the edge and what he saw quickly made his sit back up rigid. Beneath the surface were bodies, thousands and millions, with their pale skin and wide open eyes. Dark hair swirling in the water. It could have been the people he had killed. Could have been people he had known. 

He sat straight back up and looked ahead. He could hardly see the other side and so he sat, drifting back into his thoughts. 

Months after Dick’s death, Damian had often contemplated raiding the bludhaven apartment. Damian had been ridden by guilt and had raided the apartment in Bludhaven in a desperate attempt to uncover something that would help him remember. Maybe help him forget. It had been fairly simple breaking in. The apartment laid untouched with take-out cartons littered over the floor and dirty laundry slung on every surface. He was a little shocked that no one had come back in here. Not even Barbara. There hadn’t been much of value aside from the laundry and the half empty stick of deodorant which Damian had kept in spite of himself. The clothes still smelt like him, and in the moment of weakness he had up with them on the bed. 

Before he had gone on this trip, Damian had also decided to raid the Mansion. There the tidy room was also untouched, all the surfaces covered in a fine layer of dust. Alfred had been long gone and no one had entered since. He sat on the floor looking through the closet, carding through old photos and trinkets, fondly reminiscing the good times, the simpler times. In the pocket on a coat Damian found an old dented ipod. Even though there were a few photos of them, he pocketed the ipod instead. He replace everything as it was before and left the house as silently as he had come. This base has long since been abandoned by his father. 

Back at home he had plugged the ipod in and was pleasantly surprised to find that it still worked. It was a pretty old model and who knows how long it had been sitting in that pocket. It was like a little piece of Grayson, and he listened to all the songs on there for who knows how long. Some he knew, having heard Grayson sing or hum them. But most of them were new.   
When the beginning notes of Circus by britney had come on, he had almost snorted. He had itched to tell him that really this song? Then he remembered and it felt stones were being dropped into this stomach. So many things that he had missed out on. So many things he hadn’t known. He had it with him ever since, it wasn’t all that bad. And pretty good to do workouts with. He now carried those songs with him as he made his way across the river and into the depths of hell. 

The ride had been uneventful to say the least. Although seeing a dead body was nothing new, and he seen far more gruesome and disturbing stuff during patrols, the gaunt faces floating beneath the surface unsettled him deeply and he made a point to not look into the murky depths. For the most part, he twiddled with the strap of violin case. It was a relief when the boat docked on the opposite bank with a slight bump. The eyes of the ferryman bored deep into him and he gave a small nod before stepping off. 

Damian hated to say that he was scared, but he was. For the first time since he had started this journey. Now that he had crossed the river, there was no going back. This could all have been for naught. As he continued forward in the eerie darkness, a cool grasp of fear held onto his heart. He could feel it creeping along his spine, making his constantly look back and around his surrounding in short jerky movements. He had wished that there were some challanges, something he could hack at. An action that gave him something to do. Down here though, that didn't work. You couldn't kill the dead. Especially when you were pretty much dead yourself. And the things that were frightening and the things that made him want to turn around and look back, couldn't be reasoned with a sword. So like in the passageway, Damian steeled himself and went towards the distant burning light.


End file.
